The Watcher
by Saota
Summary: Everything in the universe goes in cycles. Life, death, rebirth. Creation and destruction. And in the place outside time, there exist those born of the countless cycles, beings that are the sum of the memories of those that had lived and died, who watch over the universe. This is the tale of one who started out as a simple human soul. OC centric.


**AN:** Hi, welcome to my first story. I've tried my hand at writing fanfiction before, but never got the courage to put it up here. I'd love to hear what you think of my writing, and constructive criticism and advice will be greatly appreciated!

Anyway, just so you know... this is an OC centric story. Hope it won't bore you. ^_^

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I have always been too much of a smartass for my own good. I thought as I lay on the hard surface of the bank's parking lot in a pool of my own blood. It was difficult to breathe and the stupid gunshot wound in my back hurt like a son of a bitch. Nothing in my eighteen years of life had ever hurt so much.

So how _did_ I end up this way - on the verge of death?

I did something uncharacteristically courageous and much to my own chargin - stupid.

You see, I have only recently moved into the dorms of my university, just a couple of weeks ago in fact. It was a novel experience to be sure, living apart from my parents for the first time in my life. I was learning that I rather liked the feeling of independence. I had a job, an apartment that I was sharing with two roommates and classes that were surprisingly easy to keep up with.

Things weren't _perfect_, mind you, but after listening to my family reprimand me about _not_ living up to their expectations for most of my life, this place where I answered mostly to myself and had minimal contact with them was making me feel good for the first time in many years.

But never mind that and let's get back to the main point.

The reason why I was in the bank today is because I had to deposit my first paycheck into my checking account. Now the bank is not too far from the university and I got there on foot after my classes had ended for the day. Everything was going the way it usually does in a bank as I deposited my paycheck until _someone_ decided to ruin my day.

I couldn't have been the only one to notice a small van pull to as stop in front of the bank. However, being the paranoid idiot that I am, I started to get the feeling that things were about to go south; unfortunately for me that particular instinct had never been wrong. And so I acted accordingly, heading toward the back exit that led to the parking lot.

The moment the shouting started I dropped down and hid behind a tall potted plant and frantically dialed the number drilled into every person living in the US in case of an emergency. It seemed to take forever for the operator to pick up, but I managed to keep myself from making any noise in my hiding spot.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" the operator drawled in a bored tone that made me want to strangle him. Wasn't he supposed to be attentive and quick?

"The bank I'm in is getting robbed!" I hissed into the phone, trying to curl into an even smaller ball behind the plant as I heard gunshots; loud sharp claps that made chills run down my spine.

"Were those gun-?" he gasped finally alert before I cut him off.

"Yes!" I whispered despite the screams inside and peeked through the dense leaves of the plant (noting peripherally that I had the perfect view of the crime scene). "There're three of them, wearing bulletproof vests, no masks. They have a lot of firearms... and radio headsets I think."

"How- how can you tell me this? Aren't you-?"

"I'm hiding right behind the back exit. They can't see me... for now."

"Ok, ok. Hang in there m'am, the police and SWAT are on the way. Can you give me an estimate on how many hostages are in there?"

I had to peek again, more cautiously than before and do a quick headcount. For the next two hours, I was stuck in that spot, huddled into a ball and dreading that the robbers would notice me and drag me inside, or worse yet: kill me. At some point I started talking to the police, until the robbers finally remembered that there was a back exit.

"Oh _fuck_, they're coming here," I whispered and took the phone away from my ear. After a moment of frantic examination, I concluded that there was no place for me to hide, so I hid my phone between the pot and wall hoping that whoever was on the other side of the call would find whatever sounds that the microphone caught useful.

"Well, what's this? There's been another one here all along!" one of the men said in surprise and then leered making me flinch back. "She's a pretty little thing. Why don't we take her with us for some extra insurance? Maybe even have some fun with her later." Then he grabbed my arm and dragged me along as they left the bank.

The sight that greeted us was one of police officers pointing their guns at us. Not reassuring at all I assure you considering the fact that the robber holding me had the muzzle of his gun pressed into my temple. I swallowed nervously and stared wide-eyed at all the firearms and stony-faced men holding them; they looked ready to shoot me along with the robbers who held me hostage. My heart was beating frantically with fear, and the beats roared in my ears dampening other sounds.

I want it to be clear the I am not a big believer in self-sacrifice or other such things; they're noble to be sure, but not very helpful most of the time. I'm not brave. I am _very_ aware of the limits of my abilities. It's not that I'm proud of this, but I've learned early in my short life that no one really needs you going around trying to be the protector of the weak and enforcer of justice. No one needs your help or kindness. Oh, they'll take it if you're giving it away freely and call you a hero. The moment that your usefulness is over and _you _are the one in need of help, all those people that you helped won't raise a finger to help you. So you'll end up tossed aside like trash and forgotten.

So, back to the story.

At that point a little boy, no more than three or four years old burst out from the back door drawing everyone's attention. The gun's muzzle disappeared from my temple and I turned to look at what happened, already knowing that I wouldn't see anything good.

There are very few reasons for which I will risk my life. Children happen to be one of them. Bitter, sarcastic, and disillusioned I may be, but heartless I am not. So I shoved the man holding me with all the strength I could muster and rant towards the toddler. The man was already shouting and pointing his gun towards the boy when the first gun-shot pierced through the air.

I dived for the frozen boy and cradled him in my arms, trying to shield him from what could be his and my death, as well as a very gruesome scene that included the dead robbers. A whole volley of gunshots rang in my ears a split-second later.

Pain in my side and the whimpers of the toddler were the first two things that registered in my mind when the sound of guns firing stopped. Then I heard the shouting of authorities as they secured the scene and sirens of the ambulance.

"Hey there little guy," I said weakly and the boy opened his eyes to look up at me. The brilliant blue color of them startled me, along with the markings on the boy's cheeks. Three whisker-like marks were on both of the boy's tan cheeks. My eyes widened but I just told myself that I was seeing things. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head and then his eyes widened again when a drop of blood hit his cheek. I realized that it was the blood that had bubbled up into my mouth and with much painful effort managed to let go of the boy and rolled over to my back. The boy hovered at my side clutching my shirt eyes wide at the sight of blood.

Now that brings us back to the main point, back to the beginning of my musings. See, in my opinion when a person like me does something uncharacteristically selfless, it is an act of stupidity. That may not be what others think of my actions, but I hold onto my view rather firmly. The robbers had not begun to aim at the boy until I had pushed the one holding me and ran toward the boy. He had been aiming at me all along.

_"O-onee-chan?"_ the boy shook me a little startling me out of my musings. _"Onee-chan daijobu-ka?" (1)_

I blinked owlishly at him for a moment processing the fact that he was speaking in Japanese. It couldn't be, right? Naruto- he was just a fictional character from a manga! But... he'd asked if I was alright.

_"Maa, watashi wa daijobudayo... shimpaishinaide," (2)_ I answered to the best of my very limited knowledge of Japanese. Yeah, that's _such_ a great idea to tell a kid who can see you bleeding to death that you're fine. I coughed and cringed as the motion caused a sharp stab of pain in my side. Spots danced in my vision as the flash of pain overpowered all other sensations.

I barely noticed the paramedics that began to crowd around the boy and me, they seemed to be just blurs of moving color and incoherent sound. I observed the commotion around me with a sort of detachment that was probably brought on by my proximity to death. All that really registered was exhaustion. I was suddenly too tired to care about what was happening to me, too tired to be afraid of dying, too tired of the pain... I just wanted it all to come to an end.

_"Onee-chan!"_ the boy's frantic call seemed to literally pull me out of the detached state in which I had been drifting. _"Onee-chan, shinanaide kudasai!"_ he cried then sobbed, "Onegai... shinenai!" But my moment of lucidity was already fading and even as the child begged me not to die, I could practically feel myself slipping away. The last thing I heard the boy say though struck me as significant though I couldn't understand the words at that point.

_"Ore o hōchi shinaide kudasai! Anata wa ore o oboete inai nodesu ka? Ore wa... ore wa Naruto-da!"(3)_

"Akito!"

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**AN:** I know it peeves a lot of people when writers who don't know Japanese try to use it in stories, and I don't want to annoy anyone, but I want to try to convey that my character is far removed from the world of Naruto culturally as well as linguistically. Here's what the characters are supposed to be saying:

(1) "Big sister?" "Big sister are you alright?"

(2) "Uh, I'm alright... don't worry."

(3) "Big sister!" "Big sister, please don't die!" "Please... don't die!"

(4) "Please don't leave me! Don't you remember me? I'm... I'm Naruto!"

This turned into an interesting experiment for me. I've never tried separating my stories into distinctive chapters before. On a different note: Google Translate is a nice tool. I know it messes up the grammar a lot when it translates, but it's better than nothing. Anyway, thanks for reading.

I would _really_ appreciate it if you clicked that review button and told me what you think of my work so far.


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